Ex-Kop (36 page)

I
WALKED
through the kitchen and climbed the stairs that were becoming too familiar. I rapped on the door.

Liz opened it. She was dressed like a normal person, in a set of whites with her hair pulled up off her shoulders, very domestic. She gave me a curt nod and ushered me in.

Horst was there. He'd come to the door to greet me. He shook my hand, his pale skin contrasting sharply with my own. “Mr. Mozambe,” he said, velvet-voiced. He gave me a bottomless gaze that made the hair on my arms stand up. He'd already scanned me. He knew I was unarmed. No weapons. No cameras. Nothing but me. Totally vulnerable.

I erased the nervousness from my voice before responding. “Mr. Jeffers.”

Liz led us into her kitchen and sat us at the table. They already had a bottle of brandy going, and Horst poured a glass for me. I took the seat opposite him.

Liz had something going on the stove. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes,” she said.

“It smells wonderful,” Horst said with a captivating, fangless smile. I still expected fangs every time I saw his teeth. It didn't make him any less dangerous. Fangs or no fangs, he was hardly toothless. He was an offworlder, and that meant his body was loaded with high-tech self-defense systems. He could kill me before I knew what happened.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I said before taking a sip of brandy.

“I was surprised to hear from you, Mr. Mozambe. When Liz called and said you wanted to meet, I could hardly wait to hear what you had to say.”

Liz set a bowl of nuts on the table. Horst snatched up a couple and popped them in his mouth. “I love these nuts,” he said. “They grow them downriver, you know.”

“I know.”

“But do you know why they grow them downriver?”

“No.”

“It's the trees. They can't survive without regular sunlight, so they only grow down south. They can't survive the depths of Koba's winter, when it's nothing but darkness, twenty-two seven. Of course, the downside is that they don't get much rainwater down there because it's so much hotter and drier. That's why you only find them growing around lakes and on riverbanks. Even then, they don't get much water, so they generally have a small yield. A bowl like this is probably two tree's worth of nuts.”

“Spoken like a true tour guide.”

His smile was pure silk. “Have you ever been down to the deserts, Mr. Mozambe?”

“No.”

“You really should some time. It's harsh territory, but it is stunningly beautiful. Do you have any salt, Liz?”

She fished in a cupboard and pulled out a shaker.

Horst took the shaker and sprinkled the bowl. “Have some,” he said.

I thought it would look funny if I didn't, so I took two. I cupped them in my hand and shook them around like a pair of dice, stalling long enough for Horst to eat a salted nut before I tossed them in my mouth.

“Thanks for offering to host dinner,” Horst said to Liz.

“I didn't offer,” she responded.

“Dinner was my idea,” I said. “I thought this might be a nice neutral place for us to chat.”

“And a grand idea it was,” he said. “Liz is really quite the cook, so any excuse that gets her in the kitchen is fine by me. What do you say we get down to business?”

I nodded.

“Tell me what it is that you want to talk to me about.”

My heart kicked into a new gear. I could feel it pounding in my chest and pulsing through my temples. I'd rehearsed everything in my head, but I suddenly couldn't remember my damn lines. It was stupid to get so nervous. It didn't matter much what I said. All that mattered was that we kept talking until Liz served dinner.
Just say something already!

“I thought you might want to hire me,” I said.

He laughed a warm laugh that I knew not to trust. “And why would I want to do that?” he asked as he dipped into the bowl of nuts.

“Because I hear you've got some openings.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Couldn't be helped.”

Liz was staring at us with pained eyes as the two of us talked about her dead brother like he was nothing more than a minor point of negotiation in a business dispute.

Horst didn't even notice. “I can't believe your nerve, Mr. Mozambe. You think that killing my employees is the best way to create an opportunity for yourself?”

I put down the glass I was drinking from and looked him square in that pasty face. “Listen to me, and listen to me good. Ian pinched my wife's air hose until she turned blue. That's why he's dead. Nobody pulls that kind of shit on me and lives. I don't care if he was your damn son. Got it?”

Liz was looking at me with wide-open eyes. Ian must not have told her about that particular air-hose-cinching sin of his.

“Is that how the law of the jungle works?” Horst said with a wisecrack grin.

“He threatened my wife, and now he's dead. Call it whatever the hell you want.”

“Okay, Mr. Mozambe,” he said. “So let's say that I accept the fact that you're a vindictive son of a bitch. Surely, you can't think that absolves you of all your behavior. I've lost my in with Koba's police force and—”

I interrupted him. “You haven't lost anything. You have me.”

“What standing do you have with KOP? You're retired.”

“Have the police come to talk to you? They haven't because I have plenty of standing. I say leave you alone, they leave you alone. Ian was just a detective. He was nothing compared to me. I used to run that place. I have friends all the way up and down the ranks.”

He closed his eyes for a second and sighed before speaking again, making it very obvious to me that he was running short on patience. “My police contacts are hardly all I've lost due to you. Yuri Kiper has gone missing. Do you know how valuable he was? His kind of talent was rare.”

“That wasn't me,” I said. “I don't know what happened to him.”

“And I lost six customers on that barge. Do you know what kind of dampening effect that's going to have on my business? It's only been a day, and I'm already suffering almost fifty percent cancellations.”

“That's temporary. Business will bounce back.”

Horst was shaking his head. He wasn't buying it.

Liz set plates in front of us. Fish over rice.

“Ah, this looks wonderful, Liz,” he said.

That it did. She'd made some kind of an herbal sauce that
had been drizzled over top. “Ian taught me how to make it,” she said. “It was one of his favorite dishes.”

Horst cut into his with his fork. “The fish looks perfect.” It was a whitefish, light and flaky near the edges and translucent in the middle. He scooped up a piece and lifted it to his nose. He took a deep whiff, the pallor of his cheeks matching the color of the fish's rare center. He slid the bite through his thin lips. “Delicious,” he said.

I cut into mine, pulling a piece free with my fork. I took one last glance at Liz, who was looking at me blankly. It would look strange if I didn't eat. I had to trust her. I lifted it to my lips, putting my trust in the conversation we'd had that morning. …

I'd taken a seat in Liz's armchair. She'd tried to close the door on me, but I insisted that she let me in. Her apartment was a disaster. Brandy empties littered the floor. Three distinct piles of crumpled tissues on the sofa. Next to the door was a short stack of plates from the downstairs restaurant with crusty-looking food scraps squeezing out from between the layered ceramics.

She was wearing nothing but her robe. Her hair looked unwashed and was pillow-pressed on one side. She was watching me, waiting for me to say something.

“I'm sorry about your brother.” I opened.

“No, you're not. You're glad he's dead.”

I rolled with the punch. “You're right,” I confessed. “But I
am
sorry to see you hurting like this. I know how you must feel.”

“Bullshit. You have no idea how I feel.”

“I just lost my wife,” I stated matter of fact.

“I didn't know you had a wife.”

“I do. I did.”

“When?”

“Three days ago.”

“How did it happen?”

“She jumped off a bridge a few months ago. She was paralyzed and wanted me to take her off her respirator.”

“Was she terminal?”

“No.”

“She wanted to die?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“Her father abused her, and she never got over it.”

Liz teared up. And watching her, the emptiness inside me took hold. I felt tears in my own eyes. I wanted to let it out. I ached to let loose. Liz and I could help each other. We could share our pain, and maybe together we could find a way to make it bearable. I opened my mouth, not knowing what I'd say. I made a false start, the first part of an unknown syllable hanging in the air. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how. …

And then it passed. The moment was gone, vanished as mysteriously as it had come. And I was glad it was gone. I could never let myself get involved with Liz. She was broken in a way that couldn't ever be fixed. It would be like Niki all over again. I wiped my cheeks and sniffled my nose clear.

Liz had the tissues out, and she offered me one.

I declined.

She blew her nose. “Tell me how Ian died and don't give me any of that hero bullshit they said on the news.”

I was in a haze, thoughts of Niki clouding my mind. Still, I managed to answer her question. “I shot him.”

“Was it in self-defense?”

“No. He didn't even know I was there until it was too late.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You made me help you find him.”

“You did what was right, Liz. He and Horst killed that girl. He'd become a monster. There was no saving him.”

“He wasn't always like that, you know.”

I was still in a haze. Her words were coming at me through layers of fog. I forced myself to think of Adela, the way she died. I summoned the anger, letting it fill the empty hole in my soul. I let the anger burn off the fog and sharpen my mind. I came here for a reason, and it was time I stopped letting things like sappy feelings get in the way. Horst was going to pay, and Liz was going to help me.

“What was Ian like before?” I asked, humoring her.

“He was shy and sweet.”

Shy? Maybe. Sweet? Never. The way I saw it, Ian was a sadistic bastard with a hard-on for his sister, a weak, disturbed girl who couldn't set any boundaries—mothering him, protecting him, fucking him. To her, it was all the same thing. But I didn't contradict her. I let her remember her brother however she wanted.

“He wasn't cut out for police work,” she said. “He was going to quit.”

“When was that?”

“Right before he met Horst. That was about a year ago. Horst took him under his wing when he found out he was a cop. Ian was really taken with him. You've seen how charming Horst can be. Ian would've done absolutely anything for Horst.”

“Did Horst know the two of you were related?”

“No. He just thought we were childhood lovers who would still see each other now and again. I should've never introduced Ian to him. Ian was confused and vulnerable. He had no confidence in himself, you know what I mean?”

“I do. I remember what Ian was like when he first joined KOP.”

“Then you know,” she insisted. “He wasn't always the person he was at the end.”

“I know,” I said, consoling.

She cried again. I hugged her. I patted her shoulder. I wiped her tears away. I held her and waited, my mind drifting to Horst. … Arresting him was out of the question. He could contradict my version of events on the barge. He could say that Ian was alive and heading for the Zoo the last time he saw him. Maggie couldn't be known to have anything to do with Ian's death. She needed to be kept clear. Just the implication that she was somehow investigating Ian was enough to stain her as a rat for the rest of her career. I couldn't let that happen. Maggie's image was and would always remain true blue.

Liz pulled away when the tears stopped, and I moved back to the armchair, giving her a minute to just be.

“I'm sorry about your wife.” She said it so sincerely that I was taken aback. The hollowness inside me was suddenly all-consuming. Tears were about to overflow the dam I'd propped up. I wanted to tell her about Niki, about how I tried to save her and how I wasn't any good at it. I wanted to tell her about what a good a person Niki was and about all the times she'd tried to save me from my drinking and my enforcing. I wanted to tell her how much I loved Niki, the way she'd cut the buttons off my shirts and replace them with snaps, the way she would smile at my jokes, even when they weren't funny.

This was my opportunity. …

Fuck it. I didn't deserve her consolation, or anybody else's.

For a long while, we didn't talk, each of us alone with our own thoughts. I worked hard at corralling my emotions. When I felt like I'd finally managed to pen them up, I broke the silence. “I want to talk about Horst.”

“I don't,” she stated.

“All right,” I said. “Then just listen. You tell me if I get any of it wrong. Okay?”

She didn't say anything, but she looked like she was listening. The trick was to get her thinking about Horst, about how he corrupted her brother. I wanted her to blame Horst for Ian's death. Not me, not herself, but Horst.

“Ian was a good guy,” I said as if I meant it. “Sure, he was screwed up, but he didn't hurt anybody. That incident with your old boyfriend was just a mistake. He thought he needed to protect you. His heart was in the right place. Since you were children, his heart was always in the right place. He wanted to be a chef, right? He didn't want to get mixed up in any of this. It was Horst that did it to him. It was Horst that got him hooked on steroids, wasn't it?”

She nodded absently.

“He turned Ian into what he was. Horst is a user. He uses people when they can be helpful to him and throws them away when they're used up. He didn't care about Ian. He only wanted what Ian could give him as a cop. He convinced Ian to stay with KOP when everybody knew it wasn't right for him.”

Again, she nodded.

“You used to hook at the Red Room, right?” I paused briefly, and she nodded. “You had no choice. Your father kicked you out on the street. How else were going to support yourself? You hated it. All prostitutes do. Sometimes you could rationalize it away, but deep down you hated it. All those needy johns and their hang-ups. That's how you met Horst, isn't it? He used to bring his kinky clients to the Red Room.”